


Desiderate

by Amalia Kensington (amaliak01)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Secret Relationship, s2 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 04:57:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaliak01/pseuds/Amalia%20Kensington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The Woman had awakened desire, yes, but not for her." Slightly AU for season 2, taking place after the events of Scandal in Belgravia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desiderate

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I only own the bad plot lines.
> 
> Thanks to sempaiko for beta!

It happened when he came back from Karachi, residual adrenaline pumping through his veins at the rescue and subsequent subterfuge of his brother's men.   
  
Sherlock would never openly admit how much The Woman had actually affected him, but should there ever be enough duress to extract such information, it would quickly be followed with an explanation that said effect was not what The Woman had intended. He can still remember the look of disappointment in her eyes just before he'd turned to walk away.  
  
No, he wasn't looking for her, not thinking of her as he bounced his leg in the cab driving through dreary London. The Woman had awakened desire, yes, but not for her.  
  
What Sherlock desired came with brown eyes (not blue), thick straight tresses he itched to feel, small hands that are calloused with wielding a scalpel rather than a whip.   
  
It was Molly Hooper, his Molly Hooper that he was surprised to discover that he wanted. Molly Hooper that he kissed senseless, Molly Hooper that ended up unfurling what The Woman had coveted but only touched the surface of. It was Molly's name on his lips (in the heat, in the dark), Molly's skin beneath his palms (under, over, between, all around), Molly, Molly, _Molly._  
  
 _Conducting research with Molly._  
 _SH_  
  
He'd replied to John's text, letting the other man come his own conclusions that first night and later every other time Sherlock had felt that pull, that feeling that could only be described as hunger.  
  
Dinner indeed.   
  
He was willingly inching towards that losing side, letting Molly unwittingly lead him over it, sentiment snaking it's way around his heart like arsenic laced sweets, the delicious sweetness of it all making it less and less offensive with every kiss, every touch, every moment he stole from her (he was a thief, he knew, coveting and taking what didn't rightfully belong to him).   
  
She hadn't wanted anyone to know, and he was grateful, the extra adrenaline added to the chemical cocktail of their liaison that he'd grown unabashedly addicted to. Later he wondered if even in this Molly knew him better than he knew himself, always a surprising step ahead of him, perfectly positioned and waiting for him when he arrived (the metaphor did not escape him, but he chose to ignore it).   
  
"I have a lunch date," she said, and for a moment it felt like betrayal. He barreled on (as usual), pushing that thing that had snaked around his heart away from his brain. He was working, after all, and she would help and that would be that.   
  
"Meena," she whispered to him when she dropped the stack of the files he requested beside him. "I had lunch plans with Meena."  
  
He replied by requesting the first analysis he needed her to complete but smirked to himself for a moment when she'd turned away.   
  
She counted. She had _always_ counted, and he was brave enough (afraid enough) to admit it to her.  
  
He'd expected her to cry, but she didn't (never let a single tear that had gathered so fully in her eyes spill over). They both got to work and together, they pulled off the impossible (and therefore not the truth).   
  
Her flat had a different look now, all the curtains drawn, lights off, hiding them both in the dark.   
  
"At least you'll be more available for a shag now," she said dryly, breaking the silence that had begun to become stale after so many hours. It was the most horribly inappropriate thing anyone could have said at that moment.   
  
It made him laugh. A slow chuckle at first and then became nearly hysterical, the release of endorphins to mix with residual adrenaline, a taste in his mouth that he'd come to associate with the moment before he kissed Molly breathless.

  
It would be a long road ahead and if he was completely honest, he hadn't' a clue where to even begin, but he knew he wouldn't be doing it alone.   
  



End file.
